


like a lawyer

by lye_kisses



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Angst, Dom!Patrick, Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Porn, Sub!Pete, Unhealthy Relationships, actually more like a Better Call Saul au lol, lawyer AU, or maybe overtones
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 19:36:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15780696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lye_kisses/pseuds/lye_kisses
Summary: “Stump, my man,” Pete says, laying on the charm and turning his grin up to eleven. It’s the way he acts with his high ticket clients, the ones he needs to keep buttered up and on his good side because they bring him the best work. It’s not what Patrick deserves, but the bravado is easier than being himself. “How’ve you been?” He opens his arms wide, as if Patrick might step into them for a platonic hug, complete with a friendly pat on the back.Patrick, unsurprisingly, isn’t having it. “Cut the shit, Pete,” Patrick says, shrugging off his suit jacket and throwing it on the dark leather sofa in the corner that Pete keeps for clients and mid afternoon naps. “We both know why I’m here.”





	like a lawyer

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't finished or posted a fic in 2 years but I'm back bitches!!!! Not that anyone really cares but I feel like it's imperative to know that i haven't done this shit in a while. 
> 
> This kinda feels like the strangest AU i've written and one time i wrote a fic based on a hannah montana song. Don't worry if you don't know and/or care about better call saul/breaking bad/ their shared universe bc you don't really need any prior knowledge to enjoy. but if you DO know you can prob spot all the things i pulled from and was inspired by lol.
> 
> I'm v nervous about posting this. Partially because it's my first time posting anything porny, and also because of my general neuroses that make daily life shit! But thank u to my forever friend Hanna for convincing me to share this i love you!!!!

“Mr. Wentz?” Meagan’s soft yet terse voice comes in over the intercom on Pete’s desk. “Mr. Stump is here for his 6 o’clock.”

Pete looks up from the paperwork he’s been pretending to do for the last fifteen minutes, pressing the blinking button to reply. “Thanks MJ, send him in.”

Pete halfheartedly shuffles his papers, files them away for later. The public masturbators and drunk drivers of L.A. will have to wait. He’s just finished shoving the last of them into the top drawer of his desk when the heavy door to his office creaks open and the most important person in his life steps in.

Fuck, Patrick never fails to take his breath away. He’s a little heavier than the last time he was here, face and stomach rounded more and more over the years, but it suits him. Anything is better than the time he showed up thin as a rail, tawny hair bleached blonde, and his thick rimmed glasses traded in for contacts. That look had been such a far cry from the headstrong kid with the sideburns and the stupid pageboy cap who Pete watched study for the bar while they both worked in the mailroom of his dad’s law firm. Pete’s chest had ached for weeks.

“Mr. Wentz?” Meagan pokes her head around the the door before Pete can greet Patrick properly. “I’m going to head home now,” she says pointedly. She knows what goes on when Patrick shows up at his office, there isn’t enough money in the world to get her to stick around until they’re done.

Honestly,Pete isn’t sure why she sticks around at all. She’s overqualified to fill the role of receptionist for a sleaze-ball strip mall lawyer, could probably make millions as a model with her slender frame and tall stature. If Pete were a better man he’d let her go, send her off with words of encouragement and promises that she can find a better life than spending days dealing with down-on-their-luck drug dealers smoking cigarettes in the waiting room.

But Pete’s not a better man, so he’ll just give her another raise and a hefty cash bonus courtesy of one of his more illicit clients.

Pete shoots her one of his patented Wentz grins, even though at this point she’s more than immune to whatever allure they might possess. “See you tomorrow Meagan. Have a safe night.”

“You too Peter. And you, Mr. Stump.” Meagan smiles politely at them both, delicately closing the door behind her as she steps out of the office. Pete waits until he can no longer hear the click of her heels on yellowed linoleum before stepping around his desk and across the room to give Patrick a proper welcome.

“Stump, my man,” Pete says, laying on the charm and turning his grin up to eleven. It’s the way he acts with his high ticket clients, the ones he needs to keep buttered up and on his good side because they bring him the best work. It’s not what Patrick deserves, but the bravado is easier than being himself. “How’ve you been?” He opens his arms wide, as if Patrick might step into them for a platonic hug, complete with a friendly pat on the back.

Patrick, unsurprisingly, isn’t having it. “Cut the shit, Pete,” Patrick says, shrugging off his suit jacket and throwing it on the dark leather sofa in the corner that Pete keeps for clients and mid afternoon naps. “We both know why I’m here.” He pushes right past Pete, sitting down in Pete’s desk chair like it’s his own. God, he looks perfect behind Pete’s desk. Maybe because he’s an actual lawyer, with a degree from a prestigious law school, not a criminal lawyer- heavy emphasis on criminal- who’ll schmooze his way through any deal to make a quick buck. At least he always puts on a show.

“Well?” Patrick says, lifting his wrist to look at the sleek screen of his brand new Apple Watch, probably bought with hard earned dollars and not a stack of bills handed over by someone who may or may not be a kingpin in the drug trade. “I don’t have all night.”

Pete is quick to move at that. He knows Patrick doesn’t bluff, not with Pete at least. He’ll pick up and leave in half a heartbeat if he’s the right mix of impatient and annoyed. Patrick doesn’t need this like Pete does.

Patrick rolls the chair back a few inches so there’s enough room for Pete to drop to his knees in front of him. They don’t kiss when they do this, haven’t since before Pete left Chicago. Pete misses when they’d make out for hours before getting down to it, daydreams about Patrick’s plush pink lips pressed to his own. But Pete will take what he can get, and anyways, this is more than he deserves.

Patrick keeps his arms on the rests while Pete unbuckles his belt with eager, shaking fingers. He has a flicker of an idea to ask Patrick to hit him with it, leave welts and bruises on his back that’ll last him weeks, but that’s far too much effort for him to give someone like Pete. Instead, he leaves it open and hanging, still looped through Patrick’s pants, and moves on to the button and zipper. He’s unable to resist nuzzling at the sizable bulge in his boxers now that it’s right in front of his face. He’s never shied away from the fact he’s a freak, that he takes cock like communion. At least Patrick still gets hard for him.

Pete reaches into Patrick’s boxers, finally getting a hand around his cock. The little huff of pleasure he lets out sends firecracker sparks straight to Pete’s stomach.

He doesn’t intend for the slow stripe he licks from root to tip of Patrick’s cock to be teasing. He just wants to savor the first taste of his favorite salty flavor, made even more delectable because this is Patrick he’s tasting. Patrick never sees things the same way he does.

“You know better than to play with me like that,” Patrick growls, cheeks pink with a mix of arousal and anger. For a second Pete is worried Patrick is going to get up and leave, close the door behind him and never speak to Pete again (like he should have years ago). Instead, Patrick threads his fingers through Pete’s hair, pulling so hard Pete’s sure he’s ripping hair out. It takes everything in his power not to come on the spot.

“Hands behind your back,” Patrick orders, and Pete, for once, complies. “There you go,” Patrick says, voice low and dark as he uses his free hand to cup Pete’s face. “You’re not completely insolent.”

It’s the closest thing to praise he’s gotten from Patrick in years. His skin burns with it.

Patrick tugs at Pete’s hair again, dragging his head back to his cock. Pete takes the not-so-subtle hint and opens his mouth, letting his eyes flutter closed as his jaw drops open.

Patrick isn’t careful with him, pushing Pete down onto his cock until he’s gagging, nose pressed to the course hairs Patrick never bothers to trim for him. Pete might choke to death, almost hopes he will. A sacrifice at the altar, suffocating to death on his knees. He’s a little disappointed when Patrick pulls him back, gives him a second to catch his breath.

“Fuck, what would your clients say if they saw you like this?” Patrick says, punctuating his sentence with a thrust back into Pete’s mouth. “A big star like you, putting yourself on all the billboards and bus benches- they probably think you bring people in here to suck your dick, that you’re the man in charge. But you’re just a little bitch, aren’t you?”

Pete moans around Patrick’s cock, wanton and unashamed. He’s harder than he’s ever been at the thought of the world seeing him like this, in his true form- debauched and degraded. He’s tempted to reach into his own pants, give himself the relief he desperately craves, but Patrick told him to keep his hands behind his back. Just because he’s given up on being a good man doesn’t mean there’s no glimmer of obedience left in him.

Pete settles for rocking his hips forward, trying to get as much friction as he can on his aching cock. It’s not nearly enough to get him off, but that almost makes it better. He deserves the frustration for everything he’s put Patrick through over the years. For everything he’s put everyone he cares about through.

Patrick is close. Pete can tell from the way his thrusts start to lose their perfectly precise rhythm, how his moans become louder and unrestrained. He’s disappointed when Patrick pushes him back off his cock, leaving him with nothing but a string of saliva hanging from his swollen lips. He had been so willing to swallow whatever Patrick gave him, drink down every drop of his come like it’s his last meal.

Patrick fists his spit-slick cock in his hand,still firmly holding Pete a few inches away. Not exactly the ending Pete was hoping for, but he figures he’s not worthy of that anyways. Pete just lets his tongue hang out, resting on his bottom lip, brown eyes begging Patrick to give him another taste. It only takes a few frantic strokes before Patrick comes with a grunt and a muttered fuck, splattering Pete’s face with it. He mostly misses Pete’s tongue, hitting his cheeks and right below his eye instead. It’s probably intentional. Pete feels dirty, and used, and like his dick is going to burst.

“Can I come?” Pete pleads. Desperation wins over pride every time.   

“I don’t care,” Patrick says, still slightly out of breath from his orgasm. It’s so nonchalant. Like he doesn’t care about Pete at all. Like he never has.

Pete presses a hand to himself and comes, hot and sticky, in his pants, eyes watering from the intensity. He ducks his head, avoids looking back up at Patrick, but Patrick lifts his chin, gazes down at him with searching eyes. He looks displeased with whatever he finds.

Patrick stares at him for a few more moments, then reaches over to the bottom left drawer, where Pete keeps the baby wipes. There’s lube in there too, but they haven’t used it in years. These days Patrick can barely stand to be in the same room as him, let alone inside of him in the most intimate of ways.

Patrick wipes at the flaky, drying come on Pete’s face with a firm yet gentle pressure. The tenderness nearly makes Pete weep, if only because he knows it’s fleeting.

“You good?” Patrick asks, once he’s done cleaning off Pete’s face, erasing all traces that Pete was ever his. There was a time when Patrick would spend hours caring for Pete, pressing delicate kisses to his forehead, tangling their limbs together between the silky sheets of their shared bed. Now all Pete gets is a baby wipe and a sentence fragment. But he’ll take that over nothing. He can wrap the words around him like a blanket, replay them in his mind when he’s staring in the mirror in the middle of the night, wondering if he should just swallow his entire bottle of Ativan and lay down in the bathtub, let himself float away.

Pete nods. “I’m fine,” he mumbles, voice hoarse. Calling himself good feels like a lie.

“Good,” Patrick says, with an air of finality. He stands up, tucking himself back into his pants and fixing his belt. It’s always awkward when he leaves; neither of them know what to say. It’s too late for bullshit small talk.

Pete watches Patrick walk to the door, waits until he’s nearly crossed the threshold before blurting “I miss you.” The _I love you_ hangs in the air unsaid, like it always does.

Patrick turns around, hand resting on the frame, and lets out a heavy sigh. “I know.” If Pete suspends his disbelief enough, scrapes up what little hope he has left in his bones, he can almost hear _I love you too_.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading this! See you in another 2 years probably!!!


End file.
